“That's the widow's doing. She says that the Old World is going in for a grand smash. That Louis Napoleon will soon have to throw off the mask, and either avow himself the head of the democracy, or brave its vengeance, and that either declaration will be the signal for a great war. Then she assumes that Austria, pushed hard for means to carry on the struggle, will lay hands on the Church property of the empire, and in this way outrage all the nobles whose families were pensioned off on these resources, thus of necessity throwing herself on the side of the people. In a word, she looks for revolution, convulsion, and a wide- spread ruin, and says the Yankees are the only people who will escape. I know little or nothing of such matters myself, but she sent Twist home t' other day in such a state of alarm that he telegraphed to Turin to transfer all his 'Sardinians' into 'New Yorkers,' and has been seriously thinking of establishing himself in Broadway.” “I wish she 'd favor me with her views about theatrical property,” said Stocmar, with a half sneer, “and what is to become of the Grand Opera in the grand smash.” “Ask her, and she'll tell you,” cried Trover. “You'll never pose her with a difficulty; she 'll give you a plan for paying off the national debt, tell you how to recruit the finances of India, conduct the Chinese war, or oppose French intrigues in Turkey, while she stitches away at her Berlin work. I give you my word, while she was finishing off the end of an elephant's snout in brown worsted, t' other day, she restored the Murats to Naples, gave Sicily to Russia, and sent the Pope, as head of a convict establishment, to Cayenne.” “Is she a little touched in the upper story?” asked Stocmar, laying his finger on his forehead. “Twist says not. Twist calls her the wiliest serpent he ever saw, but not mad.” “And now a word about the daughter,” cried Stocmar. “What's the girl like?” “Pretty,--very pretty; long eyelashes, very regular features, a beautiful figure; and the richest auburn hair I ever saw, but, with all that, none of the mother's _esprit_,--no smartness, no brilliancy. In fact, I should call her a regular mope.” “She is very young, remember,” broke in Stocmar. “That's true; but with such a clever mother, if she really had any smartness, it would certainly show itself. Now, it is not only that she displays no evidence of superior mind, but she wears an air of depression and melancholy that seems like a sort of confession of her own insufficiency, so Twist says, and Twist is very shrewd as to character.” “I can answer for it, he's devilish close-fisted as to money,” said Stocmar, laughing. “I remember,” chimed in Trover; “he told me that you came into the bank with such a swaggering air, and had such a profusion of gold chains, rings, and watch-trinkets, that he set you down for one of the swell-mob out on a tour.”